


First Bite Of The Apple

by PlaneJane



Category: The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-03
Updated: 2011-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-22 04:43:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlaneJane/pseuds/PlaneJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus has been allowed to wear the <i>toga virilis</i> for almost a year now, but he has not yet proved his manhood with either woman or boy.  In theory, Marcus could slake his desire with Esca. But Uncle Aquila has made it very clear that’s unacceptable in his household.  Only, Marcus doesn’t want to visit the brothel – he likes Esca.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Bite Of The Apple

Sunlight rouses Marcus from the sweetest dream. He doesn’t remember it except that he awakes feeling content and well-rested. However, as he rolls and stretches from his stomach to his back he feels ... _sticky._ Marcus groans and lifts the sheet. It’s happened again. His cock has leaked in the night and his spend is congealed in the hair on his groin and his stomach. The sheets are a mess and there’s no hiding it from Stephanos.

Marcus finds his fine mood has evaporated faster than morning dew. He stamps his feet and crashes his way through his ablutions and breakfast.

This is all Esca’s fault. The feisty young slave, bought by Uncle Aquila to keep Marcus company while he’s in Britain and to help old Stephanos with the heavier chores, is entirely to blame for Marcus’s burgeoning affliction. Marcus can’t stop thinking about him.

Esca has grown a hand’s width since the winter but he’s still a head shorter than Marcus and his stature is narrower. His arms have thickened some, with stringy muscles that ripple when he rakes the stables. Marcus has noticed too that Esca’s chest has filled out, his nipples wider and pinker than last summer, and his stomach is flat, his abdomen contoured like the _testudo_ shell where last year it was more smooth and rounded. Esca is almost a man. The only traces of the boy are in his playful smile and surly pout. Esca is inclined equally and unpredictably to either. Both expressions send the lust-blood pulsing into Marcus’s cock and plague his mind with lewd thoughts.

Marcus has been allowed to wear the _toga virilis_ for almost a year now, but he has not yet proved his manhood with either woman or boy. In theory, Marcus could slake his desire with Esca. But Uncle Aquila has made it very clear that’s unacceptable in his household. If Marcus wants to fuck he must do it elsewhere. Uncle Aquila has given Marcus coin for such a purpose should he require it, but Marcus is too shy to go to the brothel by himself and more embarrassed still to have his Uncle take him.

In any case, Marcus likes Esca.

The August sun is unforgiving and Esca lifts off his tunic. Marcus loiters, sullenly watching Esca from the barn door. Esca lifts his head and pushes back his wild fringe from where it’s stuck to his forehead. “Can I help you, domine?” he grins.

Marcus’s studies are over and Esca will be free to spend the rest of the day with him once the horses are mucked and fed. “Actually, I came to see if I could help you,” Marcus offers, at once more cheerful to see Esca in good spirits.

“If you like.” Esca throws the pitch fork. “You can spread the straw. I’ll take out the muck.” Esca brushes past and nudges Marcus’s arm with his elbow. His touch burns and its memory lingers on Marcus’s skin like a brand. Not wasting a moment, Marcus works fast, lest the heat in his cheeks set the hay ablaze.

When they are done, Esca drinks greedily from his cup. The water drips down his chin and he wipes it away with a careless swipe of his hand. “What do you want to do now?” Esca asks as a host might ask a guest. It should annoy Marcus but it only confuses him; there’s something in Esca’s tone that makes Marcus want to be touched again.

“We could wrestle?” Marcus ventures. For the first time he feels Esca might be close to a fair match.

“Wrestle?”

“Yes. I’ll teach you.”

“I’m not sure.” Esca looks back towards the house, uncertain.

“I won’t hurt you.”

“I know that,” Esca laughs. “I don’t know if I’m allowed.”

Marcus doesn’t forget that Esca is a slave. He only forgets sometimes that as a slave Esca can never truly be his friend, his equal. He cannot do as he pleases when he pleases. “I’ll ask my Uncle. Perhaps we can spar before _cena.”_

With permission granted, Marcus strips to his bracchae and draws a circle in the trampled dirt behind the barn. He explains the rules and adds he’ll be gentle this first time. Esca scowls and jabs his finger at Marcus’s chest. “I don’t need your clemency.”

Marcus is about to make a smart remark as to whether Esca’s fighting skills are as sharp as his tongue, when Esca looks up at him with a fierce-pointed glare. Marcus immediately regrets his haste in offering leniency; Esca is wily and fast and stronger than he looks. When Marcus says, “Have it your way,” he knows it’s hardly a concession.

The air is hot and dry. Marcus licks his lips as he hunches forward and spreads his fingers. He watches Esca do the same, his pursed lips glistening and moist. Marcus knows that to floor Esca he’ll have to be sure-footed and certain in his grasp. No clever moves. Esca won’t be heavy; Marcus only needs to get a firm hold.

They circle and stare. Marcus lunges forward once or twice but Esca nimbly slips out of reach. Riled, Marcus snipes, “You’re dancing like a girl. Fight me.”

Esca’s nostrils flare and his eyes turn to ice. Quick and angry, he drops his shoulders and hurls himself towards Marcus’s stomach. A bigger boy would have knocked Marcus to the ground. Instead, Marcus braces his back leg, bends, catches Esca behind the knees and throws him to the floor, flat on his back, in a single move.

The wind is knocked clean out of Esca. Marcus can see it in the way Esca’s eyes fly wide open in shock and he struggles to pull in a breath. Esca rolls onto his side and when Marcus offers his hand he bats Marcus’s arm away. After a spell of coughing and wheezing, it’s with some labour Esca curls onto his elbows and knees then pushes up to his feet.

“I’m sorry, Esca. I threw you too hard.”

“No, you didn’t. I didn’t know what to expect. That’s all.” Esca’s mouth is downturned and grim and he wipes an errant tear from his cheek. He isn’t crying. Marcus dare not accuse him of that. Esca would say it’s the dust in his eyes. Esca bends forward, his hands on his thighs, coughs again and moves to the edge of the dirt circle.

Marcus feels a pang of guilt. “No more today.”

“But we’ve only just started.”

“I have to clean up for _cena.”_

“You don’t want me to throw you next time.” Esca sticks out his chin. “I will, next time I will.”

“I know you will, little wolf.”

“Don’t call me that.” Esca shoves past Marcus and heads back to the house.

Marcus wants to run after him and press his face to Esca’s neck and tell him it’s all right, he did well for his first time. Instead, he stands and watches him duck inside the house without a backwards glance.

That night, Marcus rubs his stiffened cock with his hand. He thinks about Esca’s lips and the fine trail of bronze hair below his navel ... and Esca’s cock. He wonders if Esca touches himself, and if he does, where and when he does it. When Marcus imagines Esca's hands and mouth on him, he spills in his fist with a muffled groan.

Over the coming weeks, Marcus and Esca wrestle every few days. Esca grows in strength and wile. Marcus learns his tricks but isn’t always fast enough to avoid them. Despite Marcus’s advantage in size, they are nearly an even match.

Marcus discovers, also, that he is far less disagreeable about being pinned on the ground by Esca than he ought to be. Indeed, sometimes he finds he likes it enough that it makes his cock start swelling. Marcus looks for signs that Esca is similarly affected but he doesn’t want to be obvious. Esca is as difficult to read as Plato. In the end, Marcus is convinced, with some shame, that it is only he who is aroused by the wrestling.

He thinks about using the brothel, to temper his unruly passion. But he still can’t bring himself to go there.

The autumn brings fruit, hanging ripe and heavy from the trees in the orchard. The harvest is a busy time, not just for farmers. Marcus is frustrated that Esca has no time for him. His skin itches for the rough and tumble rub of their grapples and throws and pins. He knows Esca’s scent, has tasted the salt of his sweat, felt the heat of his breath and the heave of his chest. Marcus craves it badly. It’s been long days since they last toed the dirt.

Esca is putting cloth sacks in the low wooden wagon used for hauling heavy loads about the house and grounds.

Marcus knows the answer he’ll get but wants to talk to Esca anyway so he says, “Will you have time to wrestle this afternoon?”

“I have to pick apples this afternoon.” Esca doesn’t look up. “Maybe in a few days.”

“I can help you.”

Esca meets his gaze and smiles.

At first it all goes well. Marcus can reach the lower branches from the ground while Esca climbs the ladder for those apples higher up. Some of the wind-fallen fruit is free of the worm and Marcus loads them in a sack too. Picking fruit is enjoyable for a while - until it gets tiresome. Marcus can’t help the voice in his head that says this is slave work and he wishes it were over with. He could leave Esca and try to find a more noble pursuit and spend the rest of the day alone into the bargain. There’s no pleasure in that either.

The ground is sparsely littered with bruised and decaying apples that must have lain on the ground for days. Marcus picks one up and finds the flesh soft beneath its skin. It’s no good for anything now, except ...

Marcus turns the apple once in his hand and lobs it up and over towards Esca. It hits his thigh. There’s a rustle in the branches overhead and Esca’s face emerges from behind a fan of leaves. “What was that for?”

“Nothing. Fun.”

“Not a battle then?”

Marcus bends down and feels around in the grass for another apple without taking his eyes off Esca. “It wouldn’t be fair on you. The Romans always win.”

Esca’s hand is sliding into the sack of apples resting at the top of the ladder. It doesn’t escape Marcus’s notice; nor does the change in Esca’s expression which has gone from sunbeams to thunder in the blink of an eye. Marcus instantly regrets what he just said, but it’s too late. The sky might be a clear azure but it begins to rain with unrelenting fury. Esca has a full cache of ammunition and he has no qualms about using it.

Marcus dodges and ducks and counter-attacks as best he can with the spoiled fruit on the ground. Apples fly past his head, strike his body and ricochet from neighbouring trees. Marcus feels his heart pounding in his chest, the thrill and fury of the fight rushing through his veins. Unfortunately, his ammunition is inferior and his position is weaker. But not one to easily accept defeat, Marcus decides to go on the offensive. He hunches forward with his forearms over his head and charges for the ladder.

What happens next happens quickly. Apples fall, the ladder topples and Esca tumbles to the ground kicking and lashing out as Marcus lunges with the full force of his body, landing on top of Esca and pinning his arms to the ground.

“Admit defeat!” Marcus cries.

“Never! I’d die first.” Esca’s face and neck are scarlet. He doesn’t give up struggling, even with all of Marcus’s weight on top of him. Part of Marcus wants to laugh at his stubborn determination and part of him wants to grind Esca into the ground. Then, with Esca laid out beneath him, wriggling and writhing, all Marcus can think of is kissing him and seeing how he likes that.

In the instant Marcus catches his breath, distracted by Esca’s mouth, Esca kicks his legs out from beneath Marcus. They end up with Marcus planted firmly between Esca’s thighs and the look on Esca’s face changes immediately. He goes completely still and there’s no sound between them except their heavy breathing. Marcus knows exactly why; his cock has gone hard and is pressing onto Esca’s belly. But what’s more of a surprise to Marcus is that Esca is hard too.

This should be the moment Marcus gets up and brushes himself off and returns to helping Esca with the task he was sent to do. But the cursory consideration of his Uncle’s warning is strongly countered by Esca’s obvious interest, and the almost uncontrollable urge to roll his hips forward for more friction on his cock. And in the few heartbeats it takes Marcus to deliberate his failing restraint, Esca moves, slightly but quite definitely.

Marcus isn’t sure what to make of it and he holds still, except for releasing his grip on Esca’s wrists and sliding his arms back so that he can rest the weight of his upper body on his elbows. Marcus watches the lump in Esca’s throat move up and down and he’s almost certain he can feel his heart beating. In a voice too quiet to hear, Esca mouths one unmistakeable word. “Move,” he says.

Experimentally, Marcus rolls his hips down and forward, gently and slowly. The friction is good, so good. He tries it again as Esca rolls up into him at the same time and that’s better, much better and before there’s thought to spare as to what exactly this is that they’re doing, they’re both pressing and grinding their hips against each other. Esca’s hands find and grab at Marcus’s hair; they pull at his tunic and press with urgent fingers into his back. Marcus lets his head drop, close enough his lips brush over Esca’s temple. Esca is hot. His breath is quick and shallow and Marcus is yet more aroused by the noises Esca makes. Marcus drives down harder and faster, his elbows and knees digging into the earth below him while Esca pushes back without giving an inch.

Marcus has thought about Esca many times: how it would feel to have Esca touch him and kiss him. What he hasn’t considered is what it would feel like to touch Esca. It’s a revelation to Marcus that Esca seems to be enjoying what they’re doing and more than this, that Marcus is spurred on by it. He wants Esca to spill, he wants him reach his climax and he wants to see it. Only Marcus is close. There’s that familiar feeling building and swelling and he knows that all it would take is one pull on his cock and it would be over.

Shifting slightly up, allowing the smallest space between them, Marcus ventures a hand down between their bodies. He could touch himself and hasten his release. His whole body is shaking on the weight of one arm and he’s sweating and sliding inside his clothes. Instead, Marcus reaches down and cups his hand around Esca’s stiffened cock. Marcus rubs him through his bracchae, revelling in Esca bucking up into his grip for three strokes, four. Then Esca keens, his eyes squeezed closed, and stops moving. The cloth under Marcus’s fingers goes damp and Esca’s entire body goes limp.

It’s too much to wait. Marcus can’t even think to tackle the laces on his bracchae. He grips what he can of his cock through the fabric, pulls hard and fast and comes with a low grunt.

Blinking a drop of sweat from his brow, Marcus takes a few deep breaths and flops on the ground next to Esca. There’s an apple under his back and it digs into his ribs. He pulls it out and examines the rosy fruit. It’s a good one – full and firm and shining. Marcus takes a bite and hands it to Esca.

They lay side by side for a while, saying nothing. Eventually, Esca discards the apple core and leans up on one elbow. Marcus looks at him through one eye, not sure what to expect. Esca pushes up and Marcus wonders if that’s the end of it – no discussion. He’s not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Only Esca doesn’t move away, he places one leg over Marcus’s hips and _sits down_ on his thighs. Esca holds Marcus’s stare and walks his fingers up Marcus’s hip, to the hem of his tunic. He pushes it up, barely allowing the skin on Marcus's stomach exposure to the first whisper of the cool breeze before Marcus’s cock is swelling again.

Esca doesn’t stop there. With nimble fingers, he unlaces the cords at the top of Marcus’s bracchae and the ones fastening his linens. Marcus’s mouth goes dry and he hears himself swallow. Lifting his head, Marcus dares to look down as Esca pulls back the cloth from his nether parts. His cock is flush-red, the glistening tip bulging free from the skin. A glance up tells Marcus that Esca is looking at it, too, before taking it in his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

With some anxiety, Marcus reaches down, to halt Esca from what he has started. He gasps, “Use your other hand,” too distracted to explain further that this act must only be performed with the left hand.

Esca frowns and grips Marcus harder. He bats Marcus’s hand away with his other arm and says, quite emphatically, _“No.”_

Marcus is about to say, _must everything be a fight with you?_ But the words die on his lips as Esca sucks in his cheeks and leans forward, releasing a globule of spit onto the tip of Marcus’s cock. He works it down, slipping his hand over the engorged flesh, squeezing and rubbing tip to base and up again.

It takes Marcus longer to approach his climax this time. He's able to watch Esca masturbating him; all the while Esca’s lips are parted and his thighs squeeze Marcus’s hips. Marcus can see the tent of Esca’s stiff cock and wants to free it from his clothes. Reaching up, he fumbles over his own heavy breaths and increasing arousal. While continuing to rub Marcus’s cock, Esca lifts the front of his tunic and Marcus uses both hands to untie the knots. The instant they’re undone, Esca’s cock bounces forward, almost touching Marcus’s, and seeing that is all Marcus needs to jerk up and spill over Esca’s fist. When Marcus sinks back, languid, Esca lets Marcus’s cock flop down as the last globule of seed dribbles from the slit. Then Esca takes his own cock in his hand and cradles the tip. As he touches himself, Marcus holds Esca’s hips, trying to pull him closer.

Watching Esca on his lap, there are some things Marcus doesn’t understand. He’s been told that slaves can be used for their master’s pleasure. He knows the ways he can do it, even if he hasn’t tried it with either slave or prostitute. But no one mentioned it would be as exciting, as thrilling to touch the slave, to bring them to their climax. Marcus wonders that perhaps he is weak-minded in this desire. He doesn't really know, as he's only ever fantasised about Esca; it is only Esca he wants to touch and pleasure. And it’s regrettable, but Marcus might not get this chance again. He has to act now, and so he edges his fingers to Esca’s stomach, caressing his skin through the sparse hairs that trail into a thick thatch at the base of his cock. Marcus glances up, hoping the touch is wanted, and he’s sure that Esca nods. Slowly, Marcus circles his fingers around the base of Esca’s cock, feeling the silky-warm skin and the sure clasp of Esca’s hand closing over his.

They both masturbate the same way, Marcus briefly considers, as if that should be a surprise. Esca guides Marcus’s hand up and down, setting the pace quick and light. After a few strokes, Esca lets go his grasp, leans back and plants his hands behind himself on Marcus’s thighs. With Marcus rubbing him, Esca thrusts his cock through the circle of Marcus’s fist. Marcus is entranced by the tip of Esca’s cock appearing through his fingers. Caught up in the rhythm of it, the steady back and forth of Esca fucking his fist, Marcus is taken unawares when suddenly Esca jerks forward in one hard thrust and spurts his seed all over Marcus’s front. It takes a short while for Esca to recover, blinking hard and blowing out a heaving breath.

Shifting and readjusting himself, still sitting on Marcus’s thighs, Esca looks around. Marcus follows his gaze. Their corner of the orchard is littered with fruit that should have been gathered for the harvest. The sun has disappeared below the tops of the trees and a cool wind brushes over Marcus’s exposed skin. His stomach is a mess of drying spend – both his and Esca’s. Marcus pushes his tunic down over it and reaches up to pull Esca into an embrace. Esca comes to it willingly, resting his head on Marcus’s shoulder. Realising belatedly that he has not yet kissed Esca, Marcus presses his lips to the top of Esca's head and wishes for things that cannot be. He doesn’t say them out loud – he knows he has a tendency to speak too freely when he’s overcome.

“That was fun,” Esca says. He lifts his head and ventures a return kiss to Marcus’s cheek.

“You liked it?”

Esca smiles and teases, “Yes. I almost like it better than wrestling.”

Marcus is mostly reassured of Esca’s consent, but there’s a nagging worry that can’t be ignored. “My Uncle said I must not take advantage of you.”

“I think he means that I should not be forced, if I am unwilling. That’s all, Marcus.” Esca threads his fingers through Marcus’s hair. “Is that why it’s taken you so long?”

“No. I don’t know exactly. I mean, how could I have known you were willing when you have to do as I say?”

At this, Esca laughs. He rolls off Marcus and laughs and laughs and punches Marcus in the ribs for good measure.

“I’m serious, Esca. If my Uncle finds out he could send me back to Rome.”

Esca quiets and sighs before he sits up. He rubs his hand up and down Marcus’s thigh and when it seems he is done deliberating this conundrum, Esca leans down and cups Marcus’s jaw in his hand. Soft and certain, he looks Marcus in the eyes and says, “He won’t find out. We’ll be careful.”

“Stephanos might say something. Look at the state of our clothes.”

“I can take care of those.”

“You have enough to do already.”

“Then perhaps you’d better learn to pick faster. I have hazelnuts and pears to gather before the month is out. Not to mention taking care of the horses.”

“You would have me for your slave!” Marcus cries in mock protest.

“If you would have me as your master.”

The way Esca says it, low and serious, makes Marcus’s cheeks flare with warmth. Marcus likes the sound of that game more than he knows how to admit. As visions of being at Esca’s mercy creep into his mind, Marcus only manages to whisper, “Yes, I would.”

“Well then, we must make sure your Uncle doesn’t find out.” With that said, Esca stands and ties his laces. “Now I have to finish filling these sacks. You’ll have to help me.”

Marcus doesn’t waste a moment gathering up the cloth bags and the ladder. If he wants more time with Esca he’s going to have to help him with his chores.

As Marcus bends to pick up the fallen apples, he finds he doesn’t mind one bit.

**Author's Note:**

> From what I’ve read, the _toga virilis_ was worn from the age of 14 or 15. This was written in response to a [kink meme prompt](http://the-eagle-kink.livejournal.com/2834.html?thread=2943250#t2943250) for Marcus and Esca underage, playing together. So while by modern standards they are underage, by the standards of Ancient Rome they are not.


End file.
